


Hole in the Picture

by cytheriafalas



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Abusive Ex, I don't understand the American military, I want this to be a verse someday, M/M, People like this so I can make it a verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 15:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6860524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cytheriafalas/pseuds/cytheriafalas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avengers AU where the Avengers (mostly) work at Howard Stark University as professors. Post-abusive RumRogers relationship. Non-abusive Stucky. Honest to god, I have no idea how to talk about this story. Featuring Avengers cameos, a vague misunderstanding of how the American military works, and a bunch of soldiers and super spies working at a university.</p><p>I don't know.</p><p>Find me at <a href="http://fangirlingtendencies.tumblr.com/">Fangirling Tendencies</a> on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hole in the Picture

“C’mon, Steve, you’ll like him,” Nat said, reaching across the table to snag a piece of ranch-soaked lettuce from Steve’s plate. “He’s accomplished. A lawyer. Never left the country, no sketchy undercover work abroad. Matt is as clean as they come.”

“Plus,” Sam added, “he’s blind, so he’ll never know that you are intimidatingly beautiful.”

Steve frowned at him. “‘Intimidatingly beautiful,’ Sam? Is there something you’ve gotta tell me?”

“Hey, I’ve got eyes, man.”

Clint snorted.

The newest addition to their lunch table at the university where they all worked remained silent. Steve risked a sidelong glance at him. He’d only met Bucky briefly once, when Nat swept him through the history department for quick introductions on his way to meet Tony.

“Besides, after everything that’s happened, you need a good, wholesome, All-American boyfriend,” Nat said. Her voice was light, but she fixed him with the look that Steve had learned early on meant she was not kidding around. It also meant she was about to go somewhere that Steve absolutely did not want her to go. “Not everyone’s like him, Steve.”

“Nat, knock it off.”

“She’s right,” Sam interrupted, and Steve began to suspect they had been planning this from the beginning, and that Bucky’s presence was hardly an accident. He was somewhat less likely to snap at them with a new person among them. “Your last boyfriend was a freak.”

“Calling him a freak is an insult to circus freaks everywhere,” Clint said.

“Brock—“ Steve didn’t flinch when Nat said his name. He didn’t. “—was an asshole. He was an abusive, manipulative bastard, and he landed you in the _hospital_ , Steve. You’ve gotta find something else and put him behind you.”

It wasn’t exactly a secret among the faculty that an ex of his had put him in the hospital with a couple broken ribs, a sprained wrist, a dislocated jaw, and bruising all over his throat. It wasn’t even a secret among the students. He’d spoken at one of the domestic abuse awareness gatherings on campus the previous year. It just wasn’t something he brought up in front of strangers.

“He was different when he got back from Iraq,” Steve protested. The words sounded hollow and wrong even to his ears. “I don’t know what happened to him, but he was never like that before. He just needs some help.”

“You came back from Iraq,” Clint said, finally leaning forward and taking an interest in the conversation. “’S’far as I know, you haven’t decided to try put anyone through a wall.”

“He didn’t—“ Steve cut off, realizing he was rubbing at the phantom ache that Brock had left behind in his wrist when it had felt like he’d tried to do just that. Purposely, he put his hands on the table. “He just needs help.”

“Yeah, and as someone who is still paying back the loans to have that job, Brock’s not your responsibility,” Sam said. “He’s out of your life now, and you’ve gotta keep it that way. Let someone with a license deal with him. Maybe you’re right and maybe he’s not an abusive son of a bitch by nature. But maybe he is, and Iraq just gave him the excuse.”

Clint stood up, stretching. “It’s 12:00, guys. Class starts in ten minutes.”

It was hard not to hear the chorus of sighs behind him as he gathered his bag. Natasha snorted at him, but stood herself, nudging Sam to get up as well. As she turned away, Natasha glanced over her shoulder and added, “Besides, if you don’t want to meet Matt, Bucky’s single too.”

And then she was gone, joining the flowing crowd of students headed toward their classes. Bucky groaned quietly to himself.

“I’m gonna kill her.”

Despite himself, Steve smiled. “That’s just Natasha. She’s not happy if she isn’t setting someone up.”

Steve didn’t have class until 2:30, and he usually spent this hour in his closet of an office in Farrell Hall, but before he could begin to gather his things, Bucky looked at him.

“So you served?”

Steve nodded. “Seventy-fifth Ranger Regiment. Most of the faculty here have served one way or another. Clint and Nat were… spies of some sort. Sam was Air Force before he left to get his counseling certification. He teaches some psychology classes, but he’s mostly here as support for the faculty. Howard Stark set this place up shortly after World War Two as a way to give vets a place to go to school or teach. His son’s kept it going, partially as engineering R&D. We lose money every year, but he manages to keep paying us and letting in students who could never have afforded to attend otherwise.”

Steve glanced at the tiny glint of metal between sleeve and glove on Bucky’s left hand. Bucky followed his gaze and tugged at his sleeve until it covered the metal. He brought his right hand up absently to press against his left shoulder.

“You?”

“Fallujah,” Bucky said. “It’s how Nat got me over here. Newest Stark Industries tech. It’s not… It doesn’t look real at all, but it functions like a hand and arm. It’s got sensors for temperature and pressure. It’s a lot better than what a lot of people got, and Stark promises once he’s worked out the interface kinks, he’ll get the design to something that looks more natural.”

Steve nodded, fiddling with the last of the salad on his plate. “Look, I’m sorry about Nat. She forgets sometimes that there’s a time and a place to talk about Brock, and public with somebody who just met us isn’t it.”

Bucky shrugged, and now that he’d brought Steve’s attention to his left shoulder, Steve could see that it didn’t move quite the same way as his right. “She was probably trying to set us up anyway. Although I’ve met Matt. He’s a good guy. I’m not actually positive he’s blind. It might be a gimmick for the courtroom.”

To his surprise, Steve laughed. It wasn’t something he did often now. Hadn’t been since he’d woken up in the hospital with a tube down his throat and Natasha talking in rapid, furious Russian to someone on the phone. He suspected that was part of the reason Brock had been AWOL from his life for the last year and a half.

“Listen, I don’t have class for another couple hours. Do you want me to show you around the campus? If Stark’s got his claws in you, you’ll probably be around a lot.”

Bucky smiled, and Steve thought that Natasha probably had no intention of ever making him go through with that date with Matt. “Sure. All I’ve seen is the R&D wing of the engineering building.”

“I’ve gotta swing by Farrell Hall to drop off my bag and let the secretary know I won’t be in for office hours today, but then we can take a tour.”

That, probably, was the moment Steve signed away his own fate, honestly. By the time he’d finished walking Bucky around the more interesting places on the self-contained campus, he’d fallen fast and he’d fallen hard. He showed up to class with his hair out of place and the taste of Bucky’s lips on his. Natasha never brought Matt up again, although her smug smile said more than enough.

And Steve was happy. For three months, he was happy knowing the way Bucky smelled when he stepped out of the shower, the way he tasted when he kissed Steve before Steve left for work, the way his voice sounded when he was gasping Steve’s name in bed, even the way the cool metal of Bucky’s arm felt when he ghosted his fingers up Steve’s back to wake him in the mornings.

He was happy until he got home after work one day and found his door already unlocked. That wasn’t necessarily unusual for Bucky when he got to Steve’s apartment before Steve did, but he was supposed to have had an appointment with Tony to go over some of the latest problems he’d discovered with the arm. Strange power surges, things like that.

Steve stepped inside and dumped his bag and keys on the counter near the door. “Buck? How was your appointment?”

There was no answer. Steve took a few careful steps inside and reached for the drawer nearest the door. He pulled it open and reached for the false bottom where their mutual paranoia had usually kept a handgun stashed. It was empty. He swore quietly and reached for his phone, keying up Natasha’s number and turning the volume all the way down.

“Looking for this?”

Something sour twisted in his stomach, but Steve stood straight, taking a step toward Brock and using the movement to hide his phone beneath his bag. He hit the green call button as he did.

“What are you doing here?”

Brock held up the handgun. It wasn’t pointed at him, but Steve knew how fast Brock could move, and how close he would need to be to stop him. It was a lot closer than he was now, and a lot closer than he was willing to get. There was something in Brock’s face that made Steve’s chest tighten. He’d known Brock for years, and the look on his face now was pure rage. He looked angrier than he had when he’d slammed Steve into the wall with a hand wrapped around his throat. Steve hadn’t even known what had set him off.

Bucky had asked him once a few weeks into their relationship why he hadn’t fought back when he was clearly capable of defending himself if he had been a Ranger. He’d told him then that he hadn’t been willing to hurt Brock, and even if he had been, the first thing Brock had done was break three of his ribs. There hadn’t been an opening after that between the pain and shock. He wasn’t sure even now if he could hurt Brock if he needed to. There had to have been something of the boy Steve had grown up with left in him.

“Where’s your new boyfriend?”

There really wasn’t any reason to pretend to not know what Brock was talking about. “He’s out. Brock, what’s going on?”

A voice very like Sam’s whispered in his head. _Use his name. Make a connection. Keep him distracted until Nat_ … assuming Nat had even answered. He could very possibly be recording his own death on her voicemail. That wasn’t very reassuring.

Brock set the gun down on the counter behind him and stepped closer. Steve held still. The implication was clear. He would have to go _through_ Brock to get to the gun. It was possible, but, God, he’d known Brock for so long that he still couldn’t quite believe that the man who had broken his ribs was the same one that he’d kissed before he’d shipped out.

“I just need your help, Stevie.” Steve flinched at the nickname. It brought to mind too many moments of kindness and gentleness and the memory of so many nights spent together. “Something one of my superiors needs done. I told him I knew the man for the job. You won’t let me down, will you, Stevie? Just one more thing, and I’m gone.”

And there, Brock took another step forward. It was Steve’s chance to lunge for the gun, but Brock put his hand on Steve’s cheek and all Steve could do was close his eyes and let out a shuddering breath.

“I missed you, Stevie. You know I never meant to hurt you. But I’m better now. I’ve been working with some people and I’m better now. I just need your help on this.”

Steve felt his resistance crumbling. He had _loved_ Brock so fiercely he’d never thought he could love anyone else. What he felt for Bucky now was still different. He would have died for Bucky, but there had been a time he would have killed for Brock. Now… now he wasn’t so sure, but the urge to trust him, believe him, was so strong that there was nothing Steve could do to stop it. Brock had been a hole in the otherwise perfect picture of Steve’s life for a year and a half now. If he could fill it, patch it over, he could end it.

“Just one thing.”

Brock pressed his forehead to Steve’s. “One thing, baby. That’s all I need.”

 

“Stark!”

Bucky flinched when Natasha’s voice echoed through the loudspeaker in the engineering fitting room and the technician adjusting something in his arm jumped, sending a dull spike of pain through his arm and back.

“Sorry, Mr. Barnes,” the technician murmured. He shot a glance at the door, finished his adjustment and fled.

Bucky stretched, waiting for the sensors in his body to adjust to the changes. It happened faster and faster now. Within a few seconds his arm was fully functional and—

“Tony, this is serious!”

Tony sighed and pressed the key for the loudspeaker. “What is it, Romanoff—“

“It’s Steve. Brock found him.”

Bucky didn’t even have time to fully process those words before Tony was fumbling for the button to unlock the door and pressing another button with his free hand. “JARVIS, get Clint and Sam here now. Interrupt their classes if you have to, just _get them here_.”

Natasha flew into the room and stopped short when she saw Bucky. “Shit. Shit, Bucky, I’m sorry.”

Bucky hadn’t realized he’d risen to his feet. “Where is he?”

“We don’t know. He went with him. I’ve already sent some people to the apartment.”

“Who do I need to scramble?” Tony asked.

“Anybody you’ve got who can help us track him down. I’ve already talked to the Rangers, and they’ve got nothing on him. Brock wasn’t one of theirs. Nobody’s claiming him. If he really was Delta—“

“He wasn’t Delta,” Bucky said. Natasha fell silent and the clicking on Tony’s phone stopped. Bucky grimaced. “When Steve told me he’d been Delta, I checked it out with some of my old commanders. We haven’t had a Brock in seven years, and nobody matched the picture I sent.”

Tony whistled, low and quiet. “That’s ballsy. Claiming to be Delta Force.”

“Does he have his cell phone on him?”

Natasha shook her head. “It sounded like he left it behind when he went with Brock. Wanda should be there now. She’ll be able to tell us for sure.”

“Tony, do you have a secure server I can access?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Bucky followed Tony to the terminal in the corner and set about running the contact program. His codes were old, but hopefully someone would be in ops who would recognize it. Behind him, he heard Sam and Clint enter the room, and Natasha began filling them in.

Midway through the short explanation, Bucky’s phone rang.

“Barnes, this has better be important.”

“I need you to run a trace for me, Jones.”

He heard Gabe swear under his breath. “Yeah, yeah, gimme a sec.” Then, “Go.”

“Captain Steve Rogers. Date of birth, July 4, 1981.” Gabe whistled under his breath. “That is the most decorated captain I’ve seen in my life. What do you need?”

“Find him. He left his apartment in New York approximately…” Bucky glanced over at Natasha. She mouthed the number at him. “…Seventeen minutes ago in the company of another man, Brock Rumlow.” There was a few seconds of silence while Gabe put the information in. “Come on, Jones. Hurry.”

“This isn’t like finding someone in London, Barnes. We don’t have CCTV every three feet—Wait. I’ve got him. They left in a hurry, got in a black SUV. They were pretty cozy there.” He paused. “Rumlow was armed to the teeth.”

Bucky grimaced, but decided he would worry about that later. “Where did they end up?”

“One sec.” Gabe raised his voice. “Hey, Falsworth, I need your eyes.”

While Gabe explained to Falsworth what was going on, Bucky gestured for the rest of the room to come to his side. “They’ve got him leaving his apartment with Rumlow. They’re tracking him now.”

“Hey, Barnes? You’re not gonna like this,” Gabe said. “I’ve sent coordinates to your phone—“ and his phone buzzed in his hand, “—but we’ve got men on location already.”

“What do you mean ‘on location’?”

“I mean your boy just stumbled into a raid, and our orders are to hit them hard.”

“Stop them.”

“Not possible,” Falsworth said. “We’ve been waiting for this for a month, Barnes.”

“Hold them off until I get there. Please, James. You owe me.”

Falsworth groaned. “Fuck. Fuck, fine. Hurry though. I’ll tell Dugan you’re coming.”

Bucky hung up and turned to face the tense gathering behind him. Natasha nodded to him. “What do you need? I’ll get it wherever you need it before you get there.”

“Some tactical gear. A tac vest. Something. If the shooting starts, I want something between me and the bullets.”

She was already typing away on her phone. “Give me the address.”

He forwarded the message to her. “The rest of you, stay here.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but something on Bucky’s face must have made him rethink what he was going to say. He nodded. “I’ll get someone to cover his class for the next couple days. Brock fucks him up.”

Bucky headed for his car. He’d spent most of his life in this city and it still killed him trying to get from the school to the address Gabe had sent him. It had only taken him seven minutes, but he was sure that Falsworth hadn’t been able to get Dugan to hold off. He expected to stop and hear gunshots, but it was silent when he parked his car and got out.

A young man sat on an idling motorcycle nearby. When he saw Bucky, he pulled off his helmet revealing unnatural silver-blond hair and gestured to the bag on the back of his bike. “Pietro. Natasha sent me.” He had a heavy eastern European accent. “I think it ought to fit you. She just said ’think super soldier.’”

Bucky didn’t have the time to laugh, although he probably would have in another situation. He might laugh later, if he got Steve out of there before Dugan and the others moved in. It was too quiet. Fuck, it was too quiet. Bucky took a deep breath to center himself. This wasn’t the time.

“You hanging around?”

Pietro shrugged. “Haven’t gotten any other marching orders.”

Bucky tossed him his car keys. “Keep an eye on things. We may need to get out of here in a hurry.”

“Speed’s kinda my thing.”

Bucky shrugged into the tac vest—exactly the style he’d grown accustomed to wearing when Delta had needed to send someone intimidating, leather straps and all—and checked the guns he found in the bottom of the bag. There were six of them. He didn’t really want to know where Pietro—or Nat—had gotten some of these, but he picked the two he was most comfortable with and slipped them into their holsters, one on his back and the other slung low on his hip. At the very bottom beneath the assault rifle he very nearly picked up but decided would be overkill even for him, there was another small bag. Bucky lifted it and then shot an accusatory glance at Pietro when he felt the unyielding shape of the material beneath his fingertips.

“Where did you find this?”

“Your apartment.”

That raised an entirely new set of questions, but Bucky undid the drawstring and slipped the mask on anyway. He was less likely to get shot by his own men with this on. Probably. Pietro pointed to a small alleyway. “Head through there. It’s the quickest way. I saw some of your boys scrambling in not too long ago.”

Bucky went. A few steps in, he heard the quiet crackle of a headset, and then Dugan stepped out in front of him, that stupid bowler hat perched on top of his head.

“You’d better have a good fucking reason for doing this, Barnes.”

“A friend of mine is in there.”

“Yeah, that’s what Falsworth said. How do you know he’s not involved?”

“I know.”

Dugan glared at him. “All right. We’ve got you a clear path to where your boy is. They drove their SUV right into a fucking shipping container, so we can’t be sure they all left, but we had eyes on three of them when they drove in. Two of them came out; your blond wasn’t one of them. Rumlow’s meeting some people in a container nearby with more guns between the three of them than we’ve had total since you left us. We can’t get good eyes on them, so the best we can do is give you a sixty second warning if they come out.” He handed Bucky an earpiece. “Go get him.”

Bucky grinned at him. This was familiar. It was nice waking up to lazy mornings with Steve with coffee from his ridiculous french press, but a part of him had missed this kind of life. He spotted a red dot from a laser sight shining on the door of a green container. He followed the path of the laser back to a man kneeling on another container not far away. Morita waved at him.

 _“All right, Barnes,”_ Dugan said in his ear, _“steady ahead. We’ve got eyes on their security and nobody’s looking for you.”_

Bucky still took a route through the shadows and paused just outside the door. “You sure he’s alone?”

_“As sure as we can be, but not positive. You good clearing that alone?”_

Bucky snorted, put his hand on the door, and shoved it open. He was inside, closing the door behind him, before Steve even finished hopping off the front bumper of the car. He froze, taking in Bucky’s gear, finally resting his gaze on Bucky’s eyes, the only part of his face uncovered by his mask.

Steve gaped at him, and Bucky could watch the initial fight-or-flight response temper into an alert wariness. Sometimes, rarely, Bucky had been able to see the Ranger training in the way Steve held himself, but here it was just below his skin. Honestly, Bucky found it a little hot, but he tamped down on that thought process real quick. Time for that later. “Bucky?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Come on, we’ve gotta get you out of here.”

Steve didn’t move. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I can explain everything as soon as we get out of here. The shooting’s gonna start real soon, and—“

“Shooting?”

“Yeah, with guns. Steve, come on. Please, let’s just get out of here and I can explain everything—“

 _“No you can’t_ ,” Dugan said.

Bucky ignored him to the best of his considerable ability. “But we’ve gotta get moving. Whatever Rumlow told you was a lie. This isn’t Delta ops. It’s not sanctioned.”

Another flash of wariness and solid Ranger across Steve’s face. “How do you know it’s not Delta?”

 _“Barnes, don’t you dare—_ “

“Because _I’m_ Delta.”

 _“Goddamn it, Barnes,”_ Dugan seethed.

“And it’s my men out there who are about to start shooting as soon as anybody shoots at them. I don’t know what he’s into, but it’s not Delta Force, and it’s not good.”

He expected Dugan to protest the claim that these were still his men, but instead he got, _“Shit, shit. Barnes, get out of there. Anderson’s down. We’ve got no eyes on them—“_ The sound of running footsteps over headset, the clank of guns against body armor.

The door creaked open behind him and Bucky turned his head toward the sound, hand halfway to the gun on his hip. He didn’t close his hand on the grip. An unarmed target—at least one not holding his weapon—was considerably less likely to get shot.

“What’s this, babe?” Rumlow asked. His voice was accompanied by the sound of three separate guns cocking. “This your boyfriend?”

Steve blanched, eyes going wide. “Brock, please don’t do this.”

Bucky watched Rumlow’s approach warily, turning to face him completely. He still had his headset in, but he had no way of communicating anything to Dugan or his men. Rumlow pointed his gun straight at Bucky’s head. Behind him, Steve made a quick noise and took a step toward Bucky.

Rumlow gestured to Bucky with the gun again. “You, I recognize. You trained in Russia with that red-headed bitch who sicced her Sokovian assassins on me.”

_“We’re on our way, Barnes.”_

“What’d they call you?”

“Probably Barnes,” Bucky said, turning to keep his body between Steve and Rumlow. If Rumlow decided Steve had something to do with Bucky’s arrival, at least Bucky had some sort of protective gear on. He doubted Steve wore a bulletproof vest to class. “That is my name. It’s what most people call me.”

“No,” Rumlow said, tapping his lips with his finger. “No, they called you the Soldier. The Winter Soldier. Cold as ice, you were. Steve here’s softened you up, hasn’t he? There was a time you’d have killed me already.”

“You’ve got me a little outnumbered here,” Bucky admitted. “If it was just you and me, maybe. Probably.”

 _“Brace yourself, Barnes. Get your boy out of the way. We’re coming in hot in three—“_ Bucky took a slow step backward. _“Two.”_ Bucky reached one hand out for Steve, praying he’d step forward and take it. _“One.”_ Steve’s fingers closed on his. _“Go, go, go.”_

Bucky pulled Steve in, reaching for the car door with his other hand. He flung it open and—much to his surprise—the door tore free in his grip. He was definitely going to have to have a talk with Stark about this later. Well, that worked better than his initial plan, anyway, and he crouched down behind it, his body half draped across Steve’s. Steve reached out to balance the door right as the shooting started, and Bucky was really, really glad they’d chosen an armored SUV for this trip.

“This your plan?” Steve asked, his voice right by Bucky’s ear.

“My plan was to have you out _before_ Dugan led the team in. I’ve pretty much reached the end of my playbook on this one.”

Bullets whistled past the door, but it seemed that all of Rumlow’s men had decided to shoot at the intruders rather than at Bucky or Steve, and Delta Force was good enough to avoid the black SUV door. After a few seconds, the shooting stopped.

“You’re good, Barnes. Come on out.”

Bucky let the door fall and straightened. None of Rumlow’s men stood a chance. Rumlow himself lay surprisingly near the SUV, one arm over a wound in his gut, blood pooling around him.

Steve let out a choked cry and went to kneel beside him. Bucky took a step forward to make sure it was safe, but Dugan was already kicking a gun out of Rumlow’s reach. He hadn’t gone for it, but Bucky couldn’t take that chance. And it gave him something to think about other than the fact that Steve was kneeling by his ex-boyfriend who had just tried to shoot him and his current boyfriend.

“Your boyfriend’s standing there,” Rumlow said. “Don’t break his heart by going to me.”

“Shut up,” Steve snapped. He reached for the wound, but his hands stopped short. “You’re dying.”

Rumlow nodded. “Happens.”

“Why the fuck—? What was the point, Brock?” Steve wasn’t quite crying, but his voice was choked. Around them, Dugan was gesturing to his men to begin escorting the living out and dragging the dead behind. “Why bring me into this? Was it him?”

Rumlow cast a dismissive glance over Bucky’s face. “No. I didn’t even know who he was until he rode in for your rescue with that fucking mask on. I wanted _you_ in so deep you couldn’t get away. Killing a few Delta Force soldiers would do that.” He drew in a rattling, pained breath. “But then you had to go fuck it up like you always do. Dating a fucking Delta Force soldier.”

“Steve, let’s go.”

“I’m not leaving him to die alone.” Goddamn it, Steve was too good and too golden for his own good. Bucky pulled off his mask and put his hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“I’ll stay. You don’t need to see this.”

“Bucky—“

“Go, Stevie,” Rumlow said, flecks of blood appearing at the corners of his mouth. “Listen to your boyfriend.”

Steve rose numbly, accepting Bucky’s mask when he handed it over.

“Ask for Morita. He’ll take care of you until I come out.”

Bucky and Rumlow watched him go. “I woulda had him,” Rumlow said finally. His voice was faint.

“No,” Bucky said, crouching over him. “No, you wouldn’t have. Not a man like him.”

Rumlow laughed and Bucky knelt over him for a few more breaths, watching the light go out of his eyes. One breath. Another. Silence. He waited a few more of his own breaths for good measure, then checked for a pulse in Rumlow’s wrist. There was none.

He let Rumlow’s hand drop back into the pool of his own blood and straightened.

“Hey, Dugan?”

_“Yeah, Barnes?”_

“It’s done.”

_“Come get your boy and go home. You’ve done your part. It’s on us now.”_

Bucky stepped into the brilliant midday sunlight and put his arm around Steve’s shoulders. He pulled out the headset with his other hand and tossed it toward Morita. “C’mon, Steve. Let’s go. Delta’s got this.”

It was slow getting him moving toward where Bucky had left Pietro and the car, but he’d just managed it when he heard Dugan’s voice behind him. “You’re not supposed to have that mask, you know.”

Bucky shrugged. “You never know when you guys won’t be able to handle yourselves.” He left Dugan sputtering and Morita laughing behind him.

Pietro was still waiting on his motorcycle when they arrived. He looked Steve and Bucky over impassively and held out Bucky’s keys. He took the guns and set about repacking the bag as Bucky began unhooking himself from the tac vest. Steve caught Bucky’s wrist, then moved his hands aside.

Steve reached for the buckles absently, undoing them with a surprising amount of familiarity. He lifted the heavy material from Bucky’s shoulders and handed it over to Pietro. He smoothed Bucky’s shirt across his shoulders.

“Let’s just go home, Buck, please.”


End file.
